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Copyright 1903 
By H.M. O’Kane 

THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Cop it* Received 

JAM t 5904 

Copyright Entry 

Im> ■ / ^ - / *?' 0 v> 

CUSS ^ )«a. No. 

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COPY A. * 

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L’ALLEGRO 











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L’ALLEGKO 

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ENCE loathed Melancholy 
Of Cerberus, and blackest 
midnight born, 

In Stygian Cave forlorn 
’Mongst horrid shapes, and 
shreiks,and sights unholy, 
Find out som uncouth cell, 
Wher brooding darknes spreads 
his jealous wings, 

And the night-Raven sings; 

There under Ebon shades, and 
low-brow’d Rocks, 

As ragged as thy Locks, 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 
But com thou Goddes fair and free, 

In Heav’n ycleap’d Euphrosyne, 

And by men, heart-easing Mirth, 

Whom lovely Venus at a birth 

9 



L’ Allegro With two sister Graces more 

To Ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; 

Or whether (as som Sager sing) 

The frolick Wind that breathes the Spring, 
Zephir with Aurora playing, 

As he met her once a Maying, 

There on Beds of Violets blew, 

And fresh-blown Roses washt in dew, 
Fill’d her with thee a daughter fair, 

So bucksom, blith, and debonair. 



Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee 
Jest and youthful Jollity, 

Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, 
Nods, and Becks, and Wreathed Smiles, 
Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek, 

And love to live in dimple sleek; 

Sport that wrincled Care derides, 

And Laughter holding both his sides. 
Com, and trip it as ye go 
On the light fantastick toe, 

10 





And in thy right hand lead with thee, 
The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty; 
And if I give thee honour due, 

Mirth, admit me of thy crue 
To live with her, and live with thee, 

In unreproved pleasures free; 

To hear the Lark begin his flight, 

And singing startle the dull night, 
From his watch-towre in the skies, 

Till the dappled dawn doth rise; 

Then to com in spight of sorrow, 

And at my window bid good morrow, 
Through the Sweet-Briar, or the Vine, 
Or the twisted Eglantine. 

While the Cock with lively din, 
Scatters the rear of darknes thin, 



And to the stack, or the Barn dore, 
Stoutly struts his Dames before, 

Oft list’ning how the Hounds and horn, 
Chearly rouse the slumbring morn, 

11 


L’ Allegro From the side of som Hoar Hill, 

Through the high wood echoing shrill. 
Som time walking not unseen 
By Hedge-row Elms, on Hillocks green, 
Right against the Eastern gate, 

Wher the great Sun begins his state, 



Rob’d in flames, and Amber light, 

The clouds in thousand Liveries dight. 
While the Plowman neer at hand, 

Whistles ore the Furrow’d Land, 

And the Milkmaid singeth blithe, 

And the Mower whets his sithe, 

And every Shepherd tells his tale 
Under the Hawthorn in the dale. 

Streit mine eye hath caught new pleasures 
Whilst the Lantskip round it measures, 
Russet Lawns, and Fallows Gray, 

Where the nibling flocks do stray, 
Mountains on whose barren brest 
The labouring clouds do often rest: 

12 


L’Allegro 



Meadows trim with Daisies pide, 
Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide. 
Towers, and Battlements it sees 
Boosom’d high in tufted Trees, 

Wher perhaps som beauty lies, 

The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 
Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes, 
From betwixt two aged Okes, 



Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, 

Are at their savory dinner set 
Of Hearbs, and other Country Messes, 
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; 
And then in haste her Bowre she leaves, 

13 


L’ Allegro With Thestylis to bind the Sheaves; 
Or if the earlier season lead 
To the tann’d Haycock in the Mead, 
Som times with secure delight 
The up-land Hamlets will invite, 
When the merry Bells ring round, 
And the jocond rebecks sound 
To many a youth, and many a maid, 



Dancing in the Chequer’d shade; 

And young and old com forth to play 
On a Sunshine Holyday, 

Till the live-long day-light fail, 

Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale, 

With stories told of many a feat, 

How Faery Mab the junkets eat, 

She was pincht, and pull’d she sed, 

And he by Friars Lanthorn led 
Tells how the drudging Goblin swet, 
To ern his Cream-bowle duly set, 
When in one night, ere glimps of morn, 
14 


His shadowy Flale hath thresh’d the Corn 
That ten day-labourers could not end, 

Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend. 

And stretch’d out all the Chimney’s length, 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength; 

And Crop -full out of dores he flings, 

Ere the first Cock his Mattin rings. 

Thus don the Tales, to bed they creep, 

By whispering Windes soon lull’d asleep, 
Towred Cities please us then, 

And the busie humm of men, 

Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold, 



In weeds of Peace high triumphs hold, 
With store of Ladies, whose bright eies 
Rain influence, and judge the prise 
Of Wit, or Arms, while both contend 
To win her Grace, whom all commend. 
There let Hymen oft appear 
In Saffron robe, with Taper clear, 

And pomp, and feast, and revelry, 

15 


L’Allegro 


L’ Allegro 



Such sights as youthfull Poets dream 
On Summer eeves by haunted stream. 
Then to the well-trod stage anon, 

If Jonsons learned Sock be on, 

Or sweetest Shakespear fancies childe, 
Warble his native Wood-notes wilde, 

And ever against eating Cares, 

Lap me in soft Lydian Aires, 

Married to immortal verse 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce 
In notes, with many a winding bout 
Of lincked sweetnes long drawn out, 

With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, 
The melting voice through mazes running; 
Untwisting all the chains that ty 
The hidden soul of harmony. 

That Orpheus self may heave his head 
From golden slumber on a bed 
Of heapt Elysian flowres, and hear 
16 


L’ Allegro 


Such streins as would have won the ear 
Of Pluto, to have quite set free 
His half regain’d Eurydice. 

These delights, if thou canst give, 

Mirth with thee, I mean to live. 



17 





IL PENSEROSO 

































ENCE vain deluding joyes, 

The brood of folly without 
father bred, 

How little you bested, 

Or fill the fixed mind with 
all your toyes; 

Dwell in som idle brain, 

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, 

As thick and numberless 

As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams, 

Or likest hovering dreams 

The fickle Pensioners of Morpheus train. 

But hail thou Goddes, sage and holy, 

Hail divinest Melancholy, 

Whose Saintly visage is too bright 
To hit the Sense of human sight; 

And therfore to our weaker view, 

Ore laid with black staid Wisdoms hue. 

21 






II Penseroso Black ,but such as in esteem, 

Prince Memnons sister might beseem, 

Or that Starr’d Ethiope Queen that strove 
To set her beauties praise above 
The Sea Nymphs, and their powers offended. 
Yet thou art higher far descended, 

Thee bright-hair’d Vesta long of yore, 

To solitary Saturn bore; 

His daughter she (in Saturns raign, 

Such mixture was not held a stain) 

Oft in glimmering Bowres, and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida’s inmost grove, 



Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. 
Com pensive Nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, stedfast, and demure, 

All in a robe of darkest grain, 
Flowing with majestick train, 

And sable stole of Cipres Lawn, 

Over thy decent shoulders drawn. 

22 


II Penseroso 


Com, but keep thy wonted state, 

With eev’n step, and musing gate, 

And looks commercing with the skies, 

Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: 

There held in holy passion still, 

Forget thy self to Marble, till 
With a sad Leaden downward cast, 

Thou fix them on the earth as fast. 

And joyn with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, 
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, 
And hears the Muses in a ring, 

Ay round about Joves Altar sing. 

And adde to these retired leasure, 



But first, and chiefest, with thee bring, 
Him that yon soars on golden wing, 
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, 
The Cherub Contemplation, 

And the mute Silence hist along, 

’Less Philomel will daign a Song, 

23 



II Penseroso In her sweetest, saddest plight, 

Smoothing the rugged broV of night, 

While Cynthia checks her Dragon yoke, 
Gently ore th’accustom’d Oke; 

Sweet Bird that shunn’st the noise of folly, 



Most musicall, most melancholy! 

Thee Chauntress oft the woods among, 

I woo to hear thy eeven-Song; 

And missing thee, I walk unseen 
On the dry smooth-shaven Green, 

To behold the wandring Moon, 

Riding neer her highest noon, 

Like one that had bin led astray 
Through the Heav’ns wide pathles way; 
And oft, as if her head she bow’d, 
Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 

Oft on a Plat of rising ground, 

I hear the far-off Curfeu sound, 

Over som wide-water’d shoar, 

Swinging slow with sullen roar; 

24 


II Penseroso 


Or if the Ayr will not permit, 

Som still removed place will fit, 

Where glowing Embers through the room 
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, 

Far from all resort of mirth, 

Save the Cricket on the hearth, 

Or the Belmans drousie charm, 

To bless the dores from nightly harm: 



Or let my Lamp at midnight hour, 

Be seen in som high lonely Towr, 

Where I may oft out-watch the Bear, 
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphear 
The spirit of Plato to unfold 
What Worlds, or what vast Regions hold 
The immortal mind that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshly nook: 

And of those Daemons that are found 
In fire, air, flood, or under ground, 
Whose power hath a true consent 
With Planet, or with Element. 

25 


II Penseroso 



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Som time let Gorgeous Tragedy- 
In Scepter’d Pall com sweeping by, 
Presenting Thebs, or Pelops line, 

Or the tale of Troy divine. 

Or what (though rare) of later age, 
Ennobled hath the Buskind stage. 

But, O sad Virgin, that thy power 
Might raise Musasus from his bower, 

Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
Such notes as warbled to the string, 

Drew Iron tears down Pluto’s cheek, 

And made Hell grant what Love did seek. 
Or call up him that left half told 
The story of Cambuscan bold, 

Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 

And who had Canace to wife, 

That own’d the vertuous Ring and Glass, 
And of the wondrous Hors of Brass, 

On which the Tartar King did ride; 

And if ought els, great Bards beside, 


26 


In sage and solemn tunes have sung, II Penseroso 

Of Turneys and of Trophies hung; 

Of Forests, and inchantments drear, 

Where more is meant then meets the ear. 

Thus night oft see me in thy pale career, 

Till civil-suited Morn appeer, 

Not trickt and frounc’t as she was wont, 

With the Attick Boy to hunt, 

But Cherchef’t in a comly Cloud, 

While rocking Winds are Piping loud, 

Or usher’d with a shower still, 

When the gust hath blown his fill, 

Ending on the russling Leaves, 

With minute drops from off the Eaves. 

And when the Sun begins to fling 
His flaring beams, me, Goddes bring 
To arched walks of twilight groves, 



And shadows brown that Sylvan loves 
Of Pine, or monumental Oake, 

Where the rude Ax with heaved stroke, 


27 


II Penseroso Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, 
Or fright them from their hallow’d haunt. 
There in close covert by som Brook, 
Where no profaner eye may look, 



Hide me from Day’s garish eie, 

While the Bee xith Honied thie, 

That at her flowry work doth sing, 

And the Waters murmuring 
With such consort as they keep, 

Entice the dewy-feather’d Sleep; 

And let som strange mysterious dream, 
Wave at his Wings in Airy stream, 

Of lively portrature display’d, 

Softly on my eye-lids laid. 

And as I wake, sweet musick breath 
Above, about, or underneath, 

Sent by som spirit to mortals good, 

Or th’unseen Genius of the Wood. 

But let my due feet never fail, 

To walk the studious Cloysters pale, 

28 



II Penseroso 


And love the high embowed Roof, 

With antick Pillars massy proof, 

And storied Windows richly dight, 
Casting a dimm religious light. 

There let the pealing Organ blow, 

To the full voic’d Quire below, 

In Service high, and Anthems cleer, 

As may with sweetnes, through mine ear, 
Dissolve me into extasies, 

And bring all Heav’n before mine eyes. 
And may at last my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hermitage, 

The Hairy Gown and Mossy Cell, 

Where I may sit and rightly spell, 

Of every Star that Heav’n doth shew, 
And every Herb that sips the dew; 

Till old experience do attain 
To somthing like Prophetic strain. 

These pleasures Melancholy give, 

And I with thee will choose to live. 




HERE END THE TWO POEMS 

L’ ALLEGRO AND IL PENSEROSO 

WRITTEN BY JOHN MILTON 
FIRST PRINTED IN 1645, FROM THE TEXT 
OF WHICH EDITION 
ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY COPIES 
HAVE BEEN PRINTED 
WITH DECORATIONS CUT ON WOOD 
FROM DESIGNS BY H. M. O’ KANE 
PRINTED AND SOLD BY CLARKE CONWELL 
AT THE ELSTON PRESS 
NEW ROCHELLE NEW YORK 
FINISHED THIS 

SIXTEENTH DAY OF DECEMBER 
MDCCCCIII 


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